Ithildin RPG's Journal
| A Farewell to Arms |
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Having heard the edict of the Valar read
to the denizens of Doriath, Celeborn carefully ponders the
words. "Are we ourselves culpable of the destruction wrought by
the hands of the Lords of the West? What have we done that have made
the Powers wroth with us?" Leaving the main square, he strolls
down the paved streets until he reaches the gardens of Menegroth once
fashioned and nurtured by the loving hands of Melian the Maia.
Shaped into works of art by the Queen, the fragrant blossoms of this
bower allow him to forget for a moment the impending doom pronounced by
the Valar, should they fail to act. One tree catches his eye. In the
midst of all the blossoms of porphory, blooms a tree of immaculate
whiteness, like the snow capped peak of a mountain. It reminds him of
the white garments so favored of his beloved Galadriel. His thoughts
now turn to her.
"Perhaps I have let my anger get the best of my in this
matter. Instead of letting my wrath rule my words, I should allowed the
situation to simmer down and then attempt to speak with her. I believe
I am willing to compromise. Lately due to her absence I find my
thoughts muddled. She always brought clarity and insight when it was
needed. Now with this demand of the Valar, I find myself in need of her
counsel."
He reaches up into the branches of the tree and plucks one
of the white flowers. He pauses for a single second and smells its
fragrance. He is reminded of the days in Lothlorien, before the
calamity inflicted upon the world of the Valar and the constant
kinstrife and wrangling between the Noldor and Sindar here in
Doriath. Those days are gone and there is no return to them.
"We have to do what is set out for us and follow that
course, if it be the will of Eru." Tucking the blossom into his
jerkin, he heads back for the palace.
Walking towards the chambers of
Galadriel, he no longer fears a confrontation. He will say what he must
without malice or regret. He knocks on her door and awaits her reply.
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